


i'm willing to wait for it

by TrickstersHeir



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: First Meetings, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Other, POV Third Person, Pre-Slash, cw: suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 00:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7663405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrickstersHeir/pseuds/TrickstersHeir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran never expected to wake up when he fell. Jon never knew he had a few dangling shreds of mercy left in him. They both find something else in their discoveries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm willing to wait for it

**Author's Note:**

> Quick fic for #zevwarden week day 1, originally posted on my tumblr. http://iseektheholygrail.tumblr.com/post/148322477048

The ambush was weak to the point where Jon wondered if it wasn’t a suicide attempt.

He was not an idiot, and he prided himself on that. Jon knew traps when he saw them. The uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, the fidgeting of the traveler girl, the way the road ahead was too quiet for his liking. That sharp metallic taste of blood filled his mouth again as the fires over Highever flashed behind his eyes. Jon felt a laugh bubbling up in his throat, bizarre humor twitching in him.

An elf stood by the ruined wagon, arms crossed over his chest. He signaled with his hands, offered Jon a smirk and a nod. Perhaps he wanted to gloat, perhaps he found himself clever. But the tree missed Jon by a long shot. He had a family to avenge. Today would not be the day he died.

The elf didn’t seem surprised, and Jon didn’t ask why. The elf simply yelled in a thick antivan accent, “The Grey Warden dies here!”

“Leave the elf alive! Everyone else is fair game.” Jon called back to his own party.

After all, Jon had a family to avenge; today would not be the day he died.

His arrow shattered on the wagon axle behind the elf’s head, pulling a mocking laugh from the elf’s throat. That was his mistake, as Jon’s tranquilizer poison immediately filled his lungs and sent him into a coughing fit and had him on his knees. Jon had three arrows in the traveler girl before he finally saw the elf pass out.

Jon let the others drop the rest of the ambush party. He had eyes only for the elven leader.

* * *

Zevran never expected to wake up, and least of all to a dog growling inches from his face. The mabari warhound had his shoulders pinned to the ground, keeping him firmly in place. Over the hound’s shoulders, Zevran could see it’s master watching him with eyes that were blue enough to put lyrium to shame. He regarded Zevran icily, holding the cold and calculating gaze of a man used to this shit. When Zevran let out a groggy groan, the man chuckled and tutted.

“Avagantamos, heel.” He called, and the hound backs off and placed himself firmly back at his master’s side.

The man folded his arms over his chest. “I wouldn’t try to get up right away, elf, lest you’d like to vomit your guts out.” He warns, and his voice had Zevran frozen to the spot.

“Ah.” Zevran said, exhaling shakily. “I had rather believed I’d wake up dead. Or, not at all. But it appears you’ve spared me.”

“I could easily change my mind.” The man laughed. “But, alas, I have questions first. Do you have a name?”

“Zevran. Zev to my friends.”

“Then I am Jonathan, and Jon to my friends. Who sent you to kill me?”

Zevran saw no benefit in lying, so he didn’t bother with it. He answered every question tossed at him by the man, ignored the suspicious looks tossed at him by Jon’s companions, and put on the most charming of his smiles. He drew a laugh from Jon with his efforts, and further glares from the companions.

He’d half expected his offer to make Jon’s mood go sour. When Zevran proposed he join the Warden, when he offered up his service, Jon only chuckled.

“And can I expect the same loyalty from you as you gave Loghain?” Jon asked, cocking his head aside.

“I happen to be very loyal.” Zevran shot back. “Just not to the point where people want me to die for them. Reasonable enough, is it not?”

Before Jon can talk, his fellow warden interrupts him. “You’re not seriously considering this, are you? He’s an assassin! For all we know he’ll just finish the job later!”

Jon snorted. “We could use the help, Alistair. If he’s been hired by Loghain, then Loghain is more desperate than we thought. He may know more, he may not. I’m rather inclined to risk it.”

Alistair huffed. “And if there was ever a sign we’re desperate as well, then it just knocked on our doors.”

“Look on the bright side.” Jon urged, smirking. “At the very least, we get a pack mule out of the deal. Besides, I’ve been collecting strays since I left home. One more can’t hurt.”

“And if our pack mule decides to kick?” Alistair asked.

“Then Avvy will rip him limb from limb, right luv?” Jon threw a glance down to the dog who panted happily at his side.

Avagantamos barked in agreement, licking Jon’s glove and batting his head against his hand before looking back to Alistair and whining.

Jon helped Zevran to his feet easily, catching him before the sudden wave of nausea could knock him from his feet. He cursed lowly, maneuvering Zevran so he sat up on a rock with his back supported by the overturned cart. Jon slipped a vial from his pocket, uncorking it and bringing it to Zevran’s lips. At his gentle insistence Zevran drank, his throat burning as the liquid slid down. He coughed after it settled, and Jon pressed his fingers to the pulse point on Zevran’s throat.

“My apologies, Zevran.” Jon said with a slight smile. “Usually the tranquilizer in my arrows wears off within fifteen minutes, but I’ve packed them heavier since we’ve been on the road. You may want to lean on me on the walk to camp lest the antidote reacts poorly.”

Zevran allowed it easily enough. In truth, his exhaustion was beginning to wear on him. He’d not planned to live past the ambush, had not expected both himself and the wanted wardens to walk away from the fight alive. And yet, here he was, leaning on Jon and wondering vaguely if everyone else felt impossibly short around Jon or if it was just him.

* * *

_the weeks following:_

“Why did you spare me?” Zevran asked him, one night by the dying fire.

The others had retired to their tents, with only himself, Jon, and Avagantamos remaining by the fire. It had been a question that had eaten at Zevran since Jon had first helped him to his feet. He wasn’t sure why he chose then to ask, but he supposed it was a fair enough topic. Something to break up the silence over the camp.

Jon exhaled softly, eyes still firmly on the piece of wood he was whittling away at as he answered. “Why do you think I spared you?”

“… Because you found me attractive and irresistible?” Zevran answered, and received a snort in return.

Zevran huffed a little when Jon’s snort turned into an actual laugh. At Jon’s feet, his mabari panted in a fashion that suggested he too found Zevran’s answer worth a good chuckle. Jon seemed to sense Zevran’s annoyance though, and shook his head. “No, though I wouldn’t complain about your appearance. It’s a perk, sure. But main reason? Honestly…”

Jon exhaled again, and casted his gaze to the stars above. “Loghain screwed you over when he sent you to kill me, Zevran. I know that you know that too. My mother always said that I should try to help those in grief. Why else would you have accepted the job? I’m a politician, I know how assassins work. Why were you so eager to take a job no one else wanted? Why were you so sloppy in carrying it out? You knew it was a suicide mission.”

Feeling his mouth go dry, Zevran bit his lip and bowed his head. He’d thought it had been subtle…

“Your mother is a wise woman.” He said simply.

“She was.” Jon said, softly, glancing over.

Zevran met his eyes, feeling his breath go short. “I… I am sorry.”

Jon shrugged. “Don’t be. It was Howe who slaughtered my family, not you. Truth be told, I never cared about the Blight in the first place. I’m here because I’m grieving, because it’s my duty as a Cousland of Highever to avenge my family. When Duncan dragged me to the stables and away from my home, I wanted nothing more to die. I half hoped the Joining would kill me, if only it meant that I would never have to tell Fergus I saw his wife and child dead and I couldn’t protect them. But I lived. I survived. And now I have a duty, to do right by my parents and carry on their legacy. But I’m still grieving, still struggling through letting go.”

Taking a deep breath, Jon paused and looked back to his whittling. “I get the feeling you accepted the job because you’re grieving too.”

Zevran rolled his shoulders, blinking away the wetness at the corner of his eyes. His silence was answer enough for Jon, who stood and slipped his heavy cloak from his shoulders. Zevran watched him slip over and wrap the cloak carefully around Zevran himself, bringing the hood up over his head and adjusting it. Jon offered only a small smile as he placed something small in Zevran’s palm and curled his fingers shut.

“It’s going to get cold tonight, if Bodahn is right.” Jon said softly. “Make sure you go and rest before the sun comes up. We move for the Brecilian Forest in the morning.”

He rose to his feet and turned, casting one last glance at Zevran before slipping into his tent. In a moment Avagantamos padded after him, leaving Zevran alone at the fire. Carefully Zevran unfurled his fingers, and examined the wooden mabari carving that Jon had left in his hand.


End file.
